Lore of the hammremir
by Simbawriter82
Summary: Every culture has its tales and the werewolves of the Vampire Diaries are no exceptions of course. Have you ever wondered what stories they tell and have told about their world? Find them here, old and new. Are they speaking the truth? Who knows...
1. The Blood of the Great Wolf

**The Blood of the Great Wolf**

_Hello, welcome to me new series of legends and myths for the werewolves of the Vampire Diaries. I always thought that the show made them too shallow and pale so I decided to add some depth and color on my own, by telling the legends they themselves tell._  
><em> This is also my first try ever to write in a style that could actually fit a legend. So please tell me what you think. Reviews are always welcome.<em>

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><p>Hear the truth if you dare young warriors. It is not pretty, that tale of our origins. It is one of greed and redemption, murder and betrayal, curse and loss.<br>It begins in the lands of the Far North during the earliest times, after the formation of the worlds. The gods and giants, elves and dwarves, all the worlds were just beginning and the great heroes and villains of our tales came into being. The great dog and the fierce wolf were newly chained, the dragon had not yet gnawed away so much of the tree's roots and the eagle had just nested in the tree's canopy. It was the time of great battles, of heroism never seen after, when it was so much easier to arrive at the banquet through will and deed — but too many beings of that age far too often sought power they should not possess, rather than achieve true greatness.  
>Long ago a clan of humans had adopted the practice of donning the skins of the great beasts of prey and going into battle with great ferocity. They marched with the images and furs of the beasts they had slain and sometimes with the living beasts at their sides — leading a force of warriors that could crush the will of the enemy by simply being there.<br>Even under the growing threats of the darkening age, they remained resolute. Their armies could not be defeated and they had reasons to be proud, as their victories were as numerous as the stars under the sky. But over time their lives became troubled and their power waned. Each battle demanded high sacrifice and left most of them utterly defenseless, struck down by their loss of power afterwards. This left them vulnerable and required that the warriors bred with outmost violence, making their enemies more numerous by the day. The wisest among them sought desperately for an answer since none wanted to abandon their cherished traditions.  
>The warriors cherished the bear above all else and donned its fur the most. The warriors lived under a set of laws. A bear could not be killed without a life-debt being paid to the other bears and without the killer paying for a sumptuous funeral for the bear. And so every bear skin was connected with the life-debt of looking out for the bears of the region. The warriors sought not only to use the bear's skin; they wanted to have its strength. The argued that with the strength of the bear they would be able to crush their enemies and more of their numbers would survive future battles. But despite years of hard labor and searching into strange realms no answer was found. Their enemies drew ever closer, encircling the warriors like an ever tightening snare.<br>At their darkest hour one of their elders suggested a path they had never dared to take. For ages, they had slain the trolls whenever they could find them, but now this elder suggested they should seek their aid. Despite their ways, the trolls were knowledgeable in the ways of magic and secrets forgotten by others. Many were against this proposal but the elder made them see reason. They had wandered to the dwarves and the elves, they had consulted gods and giants and they had wandered to all the worlds save for the home of the dead. They were refused by all, save for the ones whom they never dared to ask.  
>They finally found and captured one of the trolls, an old witch, gnarled beyond her years, and brought her before the elders. The she-troll agreed to share with them her secret knowledge, if the warriors agreed to feed her for the rest of her life so she may never go hungry again. The elders saw little choice but to agree. As the pact was sealed by blood they began listening to the whisperings of the old troll which she had brought forth over the years by constant travelling between the worlds and especially the home of the dead. They did not know at the time but what the troll revealed to them would forever poison their hearts.<br>The troll taught them that there was only one way of gaining the power they sought; by drinking the blood of a powerful being outside of the world of human and that she know of only three such beings that had the strength to deliver blood that was powerful enough but were not wise enough to be undefeatable by men: the great serpent in the oceans, the blood-stained dog that guarded the gate to the dead and the great wolf lying in chains at the river Van. She taught them in which way the blood had to be taken from the beasts and what runes each member of their clan would have to carry so each of them would gain the power as long as even a single man drank from it. She gave them one rune for the blood of the dog, one for the blood of the serpent and one for the blood of the wolf.  
>With this knowledge, the elders formed a bold plan. First, they gathered the best hunters and warriors among them, and they branded every man and boy of right age with the runes the troll had given them.<br>Those chosen men were split into two bands: one would journey to the land of the dead and confront the mighty dog, the other one would travel to the river to gain the blood of the great wolf. Those who journeyed to the land of the dead were never heard from again.  
>But those seeking the blood of the wolf were victorious. They never returned but months after their departure when the clan was under siege and their enemies ready to deliver the killing blow the men and boys left behind felt the runes of the wolf burn on their skin and they felt its power course through their veins. They gained incredible strength and speed, coupled with a rage and lust for battle hitherto unknown to them. With this power they turned on their enemies; scores of them falling even before the youngest boy as not only were they strong and fast, the blood of the wolf also made their flesh heal in mere moments. The warriors brought home many loot at that glorious day and the troll, fattened by the meat the clan had fed her all those many months congratulated them and reminded them of their pact sealed with blood.<br>But the elders had other plans. They knew that if the troll knew how to grant them their power she would know how to take it from them as well and so their leader drove a knife through her heart. He knew that she would not die as quickly as a human would but dying she would. But instead of ravaging or pleading for a swift death, the troll squealed with glee. When the elders demanded an answer she splat her foul blood at them. She told them that she would die with joy because the blood they had drunken had not just granted them strength and speed but also cursed them and their descendents for all eternity. When the leader demanded to know the truth from her, she simply smiled and passed on to the land of the dead.  
>Some among the clan were worried about the old trolls dying words. She had never lied so far and every time she had made a prediction that prediction had come true. But with his followers ready for even more glory and his enemies dead, the leader and his elders spat at the old trolls words believing them to be nothing but lies of a dying coward. They would make war upon their remaining enemies and let the soil be soaked with their blood. The leader believed that by drinking the blood of the wolf their chosen warriors had granted them the power to battle the world.<br>But the death of the old troll had not gone unnoticed by her kind. She had informed them beforehand what fate would befall here as the runes had told her long before the warriors had come to seek her out and so she had let herself being captured. And although the trolls knew what curse had befallen the humans they were not satisfied with that knowledge. They petitioned the gods for a way that the slayers could be further punished. The Highfather granted them their wish gladly as the gods had to calm the ravages of the great wolf for many winters to come so furious he was at the stealing of his blood. The Highfather took the guise of an old she-dog and attended a meeting of the elders to listen to their counsel. There, he watched as the leader bragged with his victories and how his warriors had fooled gods, giants and trolls alike and granted them their blessed blood. One by one, the others joined in and none who did not utter the same blasphemies save the Highfather himself.  
>When the leader and the others were full with their arrogance, he cast off his pelt and rose up. The leader upon recognizing the Highfather pleaded for mercy but it was too late. The Highfather took the plant they used to decorate their houses with and cursed them to be its victim. The plant, which we call wolfsbane today, would weaken their blood and burn their flesh for all eternity. All the members of the clan were cursed to carry that taint. He also told them what the old troll had not, that they were cursed to transform into ravaging beasts, slaughtering men and beast alike until changing back or being put down.<br>With that parting curse, he left them. Soon after he was gone his words were to come true. Some of the warriors fell down in agony, their bodies distorting and the pain so great that all they could do was to scream their torment to everyone to hear. When changed they rose as mighty wolves falling upon their fellow clans-men and hunting and slaughtering everything they could find. Usually they changed back after a night or two but everyone of them and their descendents had to change from time to time from the oldest men to the youngest children. No one knew when or where it would happen but happen it did. Only the wolfsbane and mighty chains could keep them in check.  
>For centuries, the descendants suffered under the curse of the wolf's blood and their human families suffered under both the burning of the wolfsbane and the claws of what their lust for power dealt them. Until the Moon took it into his heart to save us. Some say he fell in love with one of us who was doomed to become a wolf, others whisper that the depredations of the darkening age drew him to forgive us. He offered us a challenge. If the mightiest of us could hunt down the great serpent of the sea the Highfather would forgive us.<br>Our ancestors struggled long under this quest, but finally they saw success and through countless sacrifices we managed to persuade him. The Oath of the Warrior was sworn, and the hammremir came to be. The Moon petitioned the Highfather and he granted us two blessings. The first was that the blood of the Wolf would only be awakened in them if they slew the blasphemers among the humans. Also he imprisoned our wolves, so as long as we live they can only come out when the face of the moon is full on the night sky. We honor the moon and the Highfather in the Oath and hope to set right our ancestors' sins by protecting this world from the elements that corrupts it.  
>But, as you can see, young one, this task is still not done. They have spread lies about our kind, convincing lies. Now only a few of us know the true story of how we came to be.<br>They would tell you that you were cursed by their dead god or their devil, that you are the descendent of cannibals or shamans, that you were wolves once taking on human shape, but these are all lies.  
>We are the accursed descendants of humans, from a time when legends walked more openly on the earth, but born of sin. It is time to face that.<br>Our ancestors lived in a land far from here, which name is forgotten now; they were proud warriors but took more than the fates had granted them.  
>In our ancestors' greed, they sought to use the power of the great wolf. The blood of giants and gods and its terrible strength and rage cursed through our bodies. In their desire to rise above the humans, they were cursed to become murderous beasts. For centuries, our folk wandered the globe, and we were the foundation of werewolves of common folklore. The moon, he came to us and challenged us to find the great serpent. He told us that we had proven ourselves to be the worst that human and beast could offer. If we could complete this task, the Highfather would give our lives meaning, order and balance again. We succeeded, and he gave us the Oath of the Warrior, but, more than that, he gave us purpose, we were to protect our world. He chained our beasts away and made us what we are today. But be warned brothers, the wolves always lurk inside our minds, your strength and speed, as well as your terrible anger are signs of them being active inside you.<p> 


	2. The strength of Father

**The strength of Father, the folly of Mother**

_Like so often, there is more than one story of the beginning. Enjoy another one and please review._

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><p>This story is true.<br>In the old times creation ran amok and the worlds suffered under the glut of life and death — giving birth to disease and famine. Despite what your old stories told you, our world is not of paradisiacal origin. The lands were overwhelmed with chaos as creatures of one world sought solace in the other.  
>The moon goddess, whose light shone on all the worlds, had enough, and she created pairs of great spirits to multiply and restore balance to the worlds.<br>From her power sprang the dragons, the bulls, the tigers and the eagles. But the first and mightiest were the Great Wolves. Into Father Wolf, she poured her might and rage – everything that makes a good warrior. She invested much power to make him perfect –too much perhaps.  
>Father Wolf was so fierce and powerful that none dared to invoke his wrath and he fulfilled the task given to him by the goddess to keep the creatures of each world from dominating the others. He was a vengeful beast but always just in his anger, and since there was still much depredation in these times his fangs were red most of the time.<br>Mother Wolf was not so strong. The moon had not been able to grant her great power or a strong mind, too much of her strength and wisdom had been given to Father Wolf and probably that would have been the best. But the fundamental rule of nature is that each being must come in pairs of male and female and so Mother Wolf had to be created.  
>Mother Wolf was even too weak to contain Father Wolf's seed the way it was supposed to be. And so instead of powerful sons she bore him dreadful monsters, weak imitations of the Great Father at beast and downright monstrous travesties at worst. The creatures should have never been but in her weakness she felt mercy for them and raised the cubs and let them become strong enough to discover their own twisted magic born out of weakness and corruption. Mother Wolf was unable to kill even when necessary, and, more often than not, her incompetence prevented Father Wolf to hunt down and destroy his monstrous offspring.<br>One day, she found two human children left in a village on the green sides of the First Mountain. They were the sole survivors of a people Father Wolf rightfully decimated for worshiping one of Mother Wolf's deformed descendents. And in another episode of weakness Mother Wolf hid them from Father Wolf and suckled them. Even her diluted instincts told her that it was wrong but still her heart was too soft and weak to make the right decision. On her milk, they grew strong. Despite being too weak to properly carry his power and bear healthy children Mother Wolf still contained the essence of Father Wolf's might, and this changed the children. Over time, they took on the behavior and some likeness of the wolf, and she gave them to a pack of grim wolves to raise, another of her mistakes. The wolves had no longer been normal wolves but were lorded over and corrupted by one of her monstrous children, a sickly looking, and mangy thing, walking on four spindly legs and with a weak muzzle but an extremely venomous and corrupting bite. When they were old enough, he bit them so that they might be like his pack and be his servants. But the essence of Father Wolf that was in them battled with the monster's venom and the children felt Father Wolf's rage course through their veins in its full power. But for all his might they had none of his honor and justice and so they started to attack left and right everything that triggered their wrath. The mangy thing had to drive them from the world of wolves as they began to kill his servants and decimate its prey. These first werewolves were taught to conceal themselves, both from human eyes and from the nose of Father Wolf, though the children longed to be accepted by their spiritual father.  
>Eventually even Father grew old, and, one day when he had a troubled sleep he woke up just at the right moment to hear foolish Mother Wolf let slip the existence of her human children. Father Wolf grew enraged, and murdered his wife as she slept, as she had disappointed him for the last time and even his noble heart could only bear so much. In his fury, he forgot his holy task and began killing everything he encountered to somehow root out the bastard children his nose could not find. He ravaged the world of humans in his efforts to kill the human children of Mother Wolf.<br>The first werewolves were fast and strong thanks to Father Wolf's power, and they led the Great Wolf on a mighty chase but could never catch him. In their desperation they had to ally with some of Mother Wolf's other children. One of them was a vicious and bloated spider thing that could spin webs as hard as steel and shot one strand to catch the wolf and fastened the web to the First Mountain. He immediately noticed and in his rage devoured the monster in one last glimmer of justified rage. Fifteen werewolves ran in front of the Great Wolf as they ran round and round the First Mountain. During each circle, he ate one warrior, but during each cycle, the strand grew shorter and shorter. Finally, only seven warriors were left, and, as his chain pulled taut, they fell upon him and killed him. Consumed by their unrestrained rage, they did more than kill Father Wolf — they ate his heart. In this great sin, they brought a curse upon them, and they turned into ravaging beasts, ran wild over the world ravaging and killing, unstoppable in their wolf-forms until finally the moon took pity on them (and their prey) and gave them the Oath of the Warrior. She also took pity on them and made it so that they would only transform when her face was full. But that was all she could because the venom of Mother Wolf's child still burned within their hearts, running deep in the core of their beings. To remember their great sin against Father Wolf, the moon granted wolfsbane the right to punish all the werewolves— penitent or not. Wolfsbane would burn and weaken them, reminding them forever what they had done.  
>Much to the bastard childrens' dismay, the warriors took up the duties of their spiritual father and started to hunt the monsters down. Some monsters have been slain or bound a long time ago but some of them managed to escape the wrath of the warriors and even spawned offspring of their own, ever ready to strike at the warriors.<p> 


	3. The Tale of the Fifth Son  Part 1

**The Tale of the Fifth Son - Part 1**

_Man, it has been a long time. I really needed to publish at least this first part._

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><p>Listen to me my brothers. I know the pain of the full moon is hard to bear. I know you all feel it approaching in your bones, feel it tugging at your flesh, trying to shred your skins apart and freeing the monster that is caged inside all of us. But I must tell you my brothers that it is important for you to hear what I have to tell you. And you must hear it now. Only the faint pain of the moon's rays will pierce through the fog inside your minds and not reduce you to madness.<br>Now I can see the hesitance in your eyes, your disbelief. And I can understand it, because the same doubts I see in your eyes once plagued my every thought. I know the oldest tales never speak of encouragement to you. Never give you even a shred of hope that you can be free. But I am here to tell you that these stories are lies; lies born out of dull minds and folly tongues. Listen to me my brothers and here the truth.  
>We were not always like this. We were not always so strong, we were not always cursed.<br>Once we were no stronger than humans but our condition was a gift back then and not a curse. We could shift freely between our forms and the wolfsbane, back then called sturmhatt, was our boon and not our bane. We did not have this fire burning our veins and we were not these rapid monsters when transformed. We do not hail from the wilderness of the cold North. Only death could come from such a place. No my brothers we hail from the beautiful realm of the ancient Romans and it showed. We had the royal bearing of the old Romans; we had their intelligence, their fire, their very essence, the essence of the greatest empire ever known. Sadly I personally am really pale and don't have their beautiful black hair and olive skin. But anyway, back then we could have ruled as lords, had we chosen to do so, but in our humble nature we declined. Changing form was like breathing to us, natural, soothing, like a mild rain on a hot summers day. There were no monstrous urges inside of our hearts, we didn't need to be changed and endure hours of agony back then. Back then, live was good.  
>So when did it became bad. Why did we fall?<br>This part of the tale is not pretty as you can surely guess. Well, as so often it started with greed.  
>You would think that our gift was enough for all of us, but sadly no. As always there are some who simply cannot get enough. Our gift you see didn't come from nowhere; we were blessed by Apollo, the master of the forest as he came to be known later on. Just for the record, we have no ties to Romulus and Remus, or to the she-wolf that suckled them. We precede them all by far.<br>We precede the Romany in so many things. You think they invented orgies, pah, you should have seen ours; if there ever were masters of ecstasies it was us. And you know the stories that once people consisted of two halves which later got separated and so each looks for its other half? Well that was where we were, and still are, blessed also. Because unlike humans we have an instinctive pull towards the one who is our other half, well that and a major sex drive at first. Hey, I said we exceeded orgies.  
>But that wasn't all my brothers. Apollo blessed us not only with love and changing form, but knowledge. No one knew better about the world of the dead and the border to the world of the living than us. Oh the tales I could tell you, but not now, not when the moon is coming closer and closer. I will tell you another time, when your minds are ready for them.<br>For now, let's make it clear that we were not some hippies of ancient times. We simply knew how to have a good time and believe me even back then we could get pretty angry. We were warriors back then as we are today. And our teeth were just as sharp.  
>But first things first; I shouldn't get carried away. As I was saying, our power to change shape came from Apollo. But it wasn't like in some Disney movie. No figures of light, no magic powder, no potion, well sort of, but not of the pink, glimmering kind. Ok, Apollo taught us, as was his way. He taught us how to use the pelts of wolves that he guided into our blades. These wolf-hides were the easiest part of it all. The other part was trickier, more artistic, or would you call it craft? Whatever it was one elaborate way of making a potion, well an ointment actually, and no human could have ever come up with it on his own. No, divine intervention was necessary. And the one ingredient that made it all possible is the very plant that is our curse today: wolfsbane, or aconitum, sturmhatt as I prefer. Call it whatever you want. It was the one ingredient in the ointment that made it all possible. Anointed with the ointment and dressed in the earned skins we could transform, the skins of the given wolves became our skins, their limbs our limbs. It must have been wonderful in those days. No burning of the skin, no broken bones, no agony with every second. No, back then the pelts would have attached themselves to our bodies, embracing us like a gentle lover, gently molding our bodies to fit their new skins. Oh, the glory of the old times.<br>Back then we didn't have to learn it from anyone, no my brothers, the great god had directly written it into our minds. We just had to see the ingredient and we would know instinctively what they were for. Of course in his wisdom Apollo didn't give it for free totally and so we still had to search for all of them and we didn't know just by ourselves how many we would need. And getting our pelts wasn't easy either. The wolves that would become our pelts were guided to us by Apollo, but like everything in life such a gift cannot be had freely and more than one of our numbers were killed during that time. Now, looking back, I think that it was Apollo's way of weeding out the unfit. Because the one who is responsible for our curse was among those that did not pass the test. But to our all demise he didn't die back then, he survived.  
>Just like his name is lost to time, I guess no one wanted to speak his name ever again, we also don't know how he managed to escape the wolf's fangs. Fact is that he did. Oh, I wish, I could have been the wolf back then; I would not have let him escape. My teeth would have cut through his throat like a hot knife does through butter. Everything we have to endure now is his fault, all the fault of that insidious fifth son. That is how I call him, the Fifth Son, because that is what he was. The youngest of five sons and the most degenerate of them all.<br>After he had escaped Apollo's trial he wanted power the god did not chose to grant him. More power actually than any of our blood possessed in those days. I wish I would know what happened during that time, why none of our wise ancestors tried to stop him. Surely the god must have told them at least. But be it as it may, the Fifth Son escaped and from all that was passed down over the ages to the current day we know he struck a deal with some sort of devil from the East, a slanted eyed, jaundiced, hideous thing with fox ears. The Fifth Son made this blasphemous pact with the devil at the border between the civilized lands of the Roman Empire and the barbaric realms of the East, the lands of cannibals and Cyclopes, megapods and dogheads, amazons and burned people.  
>It is said that the devil was worshiped by the savage humans of those lands. They had its altars in the swamps they dwelt in. They were a stunted, foul and puny tribe, scarcely human, and having no language save one which bore but slight resemblance to human speech. They made their foes flee in horror because their swarthy aspect was fearful, and they had, if I may call it so, a sort of shapeless lump, not a head, with pin-holes rather than eyes. Their hardihood was evident in their wild appearance, and they were beings who were cruel to their children on the very day they were born. They were short in stature, quick in bodily movement, broad shouldered, ready in the use of bow and arrow, and had firm-set necks which were ever erect in pride. Though they lived in the form of men, they had the cruelty of wild beasts. I wish I could say that this was all to them but it appears that the Fifth Son was so depraved that he bred with them, coupled with women and men alike until some bore his filthy offspring, depraved and deformed monsters that are said to still roam the earth.<br>Whether he did that all on his own or as part of his deal with the devil I cannot possibly tell and not even fathom.  
>What I can tell you is that the two succeeded, or better the devil succeeded. He gave the Fifth Son the power to transform and more, but as any idiot could have told you, the devil tricked the Fifth Son. From that day on the Fifth Son could run faster than any wolf could, his endurance could outlast the best horses and it seemed as though no dagger could kill him, as his wounds closed in seconds. He relished in his powers, plundered and raped, stole and drank on the blood of his enemies. But for all his power he couldn't help notice that he could not change as was promised to him. He thought that perhaps he still had to take the trial of Apollo and so he sought out the wolf he was searching for. His heightened senses made him find one and took its snarling as a sign. Save to say it was easy to strangle the wolf now and the Fifth Son still remembered where he had hidden his ointment jar before he had sought out the Devil. In his haste he didn't even smear the ointment on the pelt as was custom, but simply poured all of it on the inside of the pelt. Without hesitation he wrapped it around his naked body, excepting to have it fasten to is skin and gift him with the shape he had always desired. But the moment the ointment touched his skin it seared his flesh, sending waves of agony through his body, creating sizzling wounds down into the muscles. The Fifth Son ripped the skin from his burned body, his mind full or pain. When the pain receded he heard mischievous laughter all around him. The blessing of the devil was still on him so the wounds on his ruined flesh healed and the Fifth Son was able to stand up. The laughter seemed to come from everywhere, but no matter what direction, the Fifth Son was not able to find any source.<p> 


End file.
